


A Beaten Edge

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-29
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um. Angst? Lots of that. UST. Both Arthur-finds-out!fic and first-time. Less smutty than it was meant to be. Death (not of a major character), injury, violence, angst. Set between Seasons One and Two - therefore contains spoilers for S1 but not S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beaten Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alba17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/gifts).



Things aren't the same after the Questing Beast. Merlin's quiet and Arthur's bratty, slowly getting themselves back together after being torn asunder by the teeth of the Old Religion, literally in Arthur's case and metaphorically, though no less painfully, in Merlin's.

Merlin wanders about the castle alternately sulking about being unappreciated (he knows he's sulking, and he defiantly _doesn't care_), and attempting to finally be a good manservant; Arthur rampages around like a bear with a burr up its backside, getting stronger and stronger every day, doing the exercises Gaius prescribes for his shoulder with a ferocious intent, and spending every possible moment griping at Merlin, which is largely the reason for the sulking and the attempt at improving his service. It doesn't seem to help.

It takes a wyvern attack on a border village to change things. They're told the village has been razed, the villagers either dead or (mostly) fled, and that the wyvern is moving toward Camelot, and Uther deems the situation too dire to wait for Gaius's research. He despatches a small squad of knights, and (reluctantly) Arthur, who is at the end of his tether at being cooped up, and soundly trounces every knight who hasn't been selected for the wyvern-killing just to prove he's fit. And of course, Merlin trails after them, managing to get whacked by every whippy branch in the entirety of Camelot's forests and carrying braces of dead and bleeding rabbits, or bundles of firewood, and falling behind reciting, in the privacy of his own head, all the spells he knows that might help, and managing to get mocked for his much-talked of mental affliction because of it.

When they pitch camp every night (it's a week's journey to the border in this direction) Arthur makes a great show of insisting Merlin places his bedroll at the foot of Arthur's, the traditional place for a manservant to sleep. This has two side-effects. One; that Arthur can poke, prod and kick Merlin any time he feels it's wanted, and two; that Merlin is closer to the fire than he would ordinarily be.

Merlin is pretty sure side-effect one is what Arthur was going for. He's happy to take advantage of side-effect two, though, even if it does mean he gets to relive the joy of Arthur's feet in his face at least once a night.

This should be a routine matter. Go places, kill things, come home. Business as usual. Merlin's not particularly worried. The journey is even kind of fun, more fun than a normal hunt at least. And he and Arthur appear to be coming right again, getting back to their usual give-and-take.

But within a day of arriving, all five knights are killed. They tried to run the wyvern down on horseback, and they shot its wings full of arrow-holes, but it spooked the horses so badly they threw their masters and ran, and on foot a man is only half the height of a wyvern. It might not have forelegs, but it has a wicked snaky neck and sharp teeth, and it's _fast_. It got under their guard, every single one, as they belaboured it with swords that did nothing but ring off its scales.

Merlin can see hacking and slicing don't work, that a thrust, a stab, is needed, and if he can see that then the knights and Arthur definitely can, but the wyvern's neck is a lot longer than a sword, and it gets them all. In the end it's only Arthur left, and he's dropped his beloved sword in favour of a villager's abandoned spear. Merlin knows he hates to use pole-arms, thinks they're for peasants and the unskilled, but the fact of the matter is he needs the reach.

Arthur waits, crouched, as the stupid reptile charges him again. Its hot, red mouth is agape, angry yellow eyes unblinking, and he sets his spear and waits for it.

Merlin could never be so cool, so collected. His heart is in his mouth as the wyvern charges. His hands though, are outstretched, drawing up the power he knows he'll need if Arthur's manoeuvre fails, and as he feels the magic roil through his skin suddenly the wyvern changes course towards him. It bowls him over before he can cast the spell, and he knows he's dead, so, so dead, but then the thing slumps, its dreadful breath shuddering to a halt.

There's blood. It burns like fire, stains Merlin's clothes and face.

He doesn't quite know what's happened until the wyvern is hauled off him and Arthur comes into view, wild-eyed and breathing hard. He yanks Merlin to his feet unceremoniously and shakes him like a bad puppy.

'Are you _mad_? Why didn't you find cover like I told you to? Didn't you see what it did to the other knights? You could have been _killed_!' he roars, flinging the spear aside and using both hands to shake Merlin more thoroughly, presumably. Merlin brings up his own hands to try and push Arthur aside. He feels like a jelly.

'I couldn't just leave you,' he snaps.

'You'll do what I damn well tell you next time,' Arthur growls. 'Honestly, you pick _now_ of all times to revert to your idiot ways?'

'Only if what you tell me to do doesn't include telling me to leave you alone with the dangerous magical beast,' Merlin retorts, stung. 'Call me mad, but I don't think your orders are more important than your _life_!' He wrenches himself away and goes to find Arthur's sword.

It's coated in mud - the danger when you fight something big on ground that's recently been rained on is it tends to ... churn - but he wipes it off on his sleeves and presents it, without making eye contact, to Arthur. The prince sheathes it, and then catches Merlin by the shoulder.

'Dammit, Merlin, don't,' he says quietly.

'Don't what, _sire_?' Merlin asks.

'_That_.'

'I don't know what you mean, sire,' Merlin says, pulling away. 'We should see to the bodies of your men,' he adds, feeling underhanded. As distractions go, that's a pretty cold one. But it's true.

As they build a pyre, Merlin realises Arthur's favouring what used to be his good shoulder.

'You're hurt,' he says.

'It's nothing.'

'My arse it's nothing,' Merlin retorts, and puts down the plank he's been carrying. 'Come here.'

'Excuse me?'

'Come here, _sire_,'

'Why is it lately,' Arthur asks, 'that when I want a polite servant who does what he's told, I get insolence, but when I could use a friend all I get is a manservant?'

'You're bleeding,' Merlin says, ignoring that comment and moving forward. Now that he's closer he can see a brownish-red gleam on the shoulder of Arthur's hauberk. It must have wicked through his gambeson and now that's rubbing on the metal links of the mail and staining it. It's typical, because normally he'd've worn a pauldron on that shoulder, but they left the plate behind because of wanting to save weight for the horses on such a long trip.

'It doesn't matter,' Arthur says, stepping back. 'You can look at it later, if you've an overwhelming urge to practice whatever it is Gaius teaches you in that dungeon of his. But right now, _Merlin_, unless you've forgotten, we have a _funeral pyre_ to build.'

There's nothing to say to that, really. Merlin shuts up, and they make no eye contact whatsoever as they lift bodies and set fires. They take care of the knights - Arthur says a few muttered words, wipes viciously at his eyes and makes some comment about smoke irritating them - and they see to the few dead villagers as well. Merlin is glad for Gaius's training in medicine, even if he doesn't always appreciate it - he can put aside the revulsion, the sadness, he feels at seeing these poor people, and he can at least see they get a decent disposal.

They camp upwind that evening, pretending there's no smell, and a dull orange glow supplements the light from their fire.

'Alright, unless you're planning on sleeping in chainmail, you'd better let me have a look,' Merlin says at last.

Arthur sighs. 'I can wash my own grazes, you know,' he points out, but he lets Merlin haul the hauberk off him anyway. Just as Merlin suspected - the gambeson is stained brown with blood, and there's a slice in it into the thick muscle of Arthur's shoulder.

'Graze?' Merlin asks, attempting the Gaius Eyebrow. Arthur's expression suggests that the Merlin Eyebrow is perhaps not as terrifying.

'Practically,' he says offhandedly. He winces as Merlin peels the cloth away from the cut.

It's strange, to see Arthur like this. Merlin's seen him bare before, but injured is different. He cannot help but run his fingers down Arthur's collarbone, the thin shank Gaius calls the 'clavicle', to the cut. He presses it, curious to see how strong the seal of blood is. It holds, but it pulses.

Arthur catches Merlin's hand. 'That hurts,' he says, a shiver in his voice.

Merlin looks away.

'Merlin, you have to tell me what's going on,' says Arthur. His voice is pitched low, serious. 'Something's the matter with you, and I intend to find out what.'

'Here, I need to clean that-'

'Do you still think I'll be a great king?' Arthur asks. He has Merlin by both wrists now. 'Do you still think I'll rule well? Do you still think I'm a prat? Gods, Merlin, I don't know what to do with you. I'm at my wits' end.'

'You'll be a great king,' Merlin affirms. He tries to twist loose. 'And you're still a prat. You don't have to do anything with me. I'm just your manservant. Let me do my job.'

'What _happened_ to you? You went away and got rained on and came back a kicked puppy.'

'Maybe I had a change of heart.'

'Don't give me that. Tell me the truth.' Arthur's grip tightens, he starts to reel Merlin in until they're kneeling face to face, firelight glancing off their skin. 'The truth, _Merlin_. Now, if you please.'

Gods, Merlin wishes he could. 'There's nothing to tell,' he says instead, and holds Arthur's gaze until he lets him go. 'Gaius went out for some herbs for medicine for you, and got caught in the rain. I got worried, I went out, I found him.' He grabs his waterskin and a cloth, and starts to dab gently at the wound.

Arthur winces, but stays still. His expression conveys that he's not convinced by Merlin's story. 'And your great speech involving my future kingship?'

'It's late, we should get to bed,' Merlin says, gently patting the now-clean cut. A tiny something curls in his gut at that, at the look Arthur suddenly angles at him when he says it. He scrabbles for Arthur's lone clean shirt in order to distract himself.

'_Merlin_-'

'You nearly died,' Merlin says harshly, thrusting the shirt at him. 'Forgive me for getting a bit maudlin. Also I hadn't slept in about a week.'

Arthur wisely lets it drop there, but when Merlin lays out their bedrolls with his at Arthur's feet, Arthur drags his around and defiantly lies down, outlined in the glow of the dying fire and staring at Merlin, daring him to say something.

Merlin rolls over. He pulls his blankets close around him, but Arthur's blocking the heat from the embers and not close enough to provide any of his own, and it's _cold_.

Hours later, Merlin is still awake, and he can tell by Arthur's breathing that he is too. Neither of them has moved. He hears a rustle from Arthur, and then a muttered 'This is _ridiculous_,' before he's yanked backwards and over to face Arthur.

'Come here,' is all Arthur says, and drags Merlin and Merlin's blankets into the circle of his arms. 'I have no use for a frozen manservant,' he adds when Merlin tries to escape. 'So stop squirming, and maybe then both of us can get some sleep.'

It's the best sleep Merlin has ever had.

***

There are solemn looks and sage nodding and the usual 'you have performed sufficiently' speech from Uther when they get back (it was a long trudge of several weeks without the horses), although the loss of the knights earns Arthur the privilege of having to train up five new recruits. Actually, Arthur's pretty pleased about that, and treads very heavily on Merlin's foot when Merlin opens his mouth to mention the still not-healed shoulder wound.

Gaius takes Merlin aside worriedly later to ask if he's _sure_ it's dead.

'Wyverns hunt other magical creatures,' he says. 'The messenger told me, in confidence, that they'd had a hedgewitch. She thought she was safe that far out from Camelot proper.'

'Safe from Uther, maybe,' Merlin says. He remembers how abruptly the wyvern changed course, and shivers. Gaius notices.

'What is it, Merlin?'

'Oh, nothing,' Merlin goes to say, but in the end he tells the truth. Gaius's mouth sets in a thin, hard line.

'And you're sure Arthur didn't see?'

'As sure as I can be. Surely he wouldn't have brought me all the way back here if he knew? He'd've just whacked my head off and left me there, wouldn't he?' Merlin says, trying to laugh about it.

'Hmm,' is all Gaius will say in reply to that. And then a page turns up all a-lather to tell Merlin breathlessly that his Highness Prince Arthur requires his services _now_, and there's no time to try and wheedle more detail out of the old man.

Arthur's laundry becomes a full-day's job with all of this training. Lots more sweaty underclothes, for a start, as well as extra armour-cleaning. Merlin's not very pleased about it. But he and Arthur are actually getting along again in their own special way that involves lots of shouting and insults and Arthur knuckling the top of Merlin's head hard enough to leave bruises and Merlin ending up in the stocks for telling atrocious lies to cover for Arthur's occasional fits of not wanting to do what Uther tells him, so he decides not to complain _too_ much.

In fact things are pretty much back to normal right up until the day Merlin stumbles into Arthur's room bent almost double under the weight of a sack of new armour that Arthur'd ordered made up weeks before the wyvern incident, and finds Arthur pacing.

'What's the matter?' he asks brightly, trying to put the sack down without actually dropping it, which would have been his first action had the chambers been empty. But Arthur does not appreciate his armour being dumped like a sack of potatoes. He's said so.

'We've had another report of wyverns,' Arthur says. His voice is tight, hard. 'Two of them this time, and closer. I'm taking ten knights.'

'I'll pack then, shall I?' Merlin says. He moves over to Arthur's wardrobe. 'You'll want your-'

'You're not coming.' Arthur is a lot closer than Merlin had thought him. His eyes are forceful, boring into Merlin's, letting him know there is no negotiating, no joking around this one. 'I forbid it.'

'You'll need me!' Merlin protests.

'You're the most incompetent woodsman I've ever met, you make noise, you couldn't defend yourself against a startled baby rabbit and you disobey direct orders in a combat situation. You're not coming.'

Merlin can't speak, doesn't even _know_ where to begin. Arthur _can't_ be allowed to go without him. He won't move, he stands like a stone, willing Arthur to change his mind. Arthur stares back, equally adamant. Merlin licks his lips involuntarily, about to try and say something, anything, and Arthur blinks, something strange and hot in his eyes before he turns away, folding his arms.

'I said you're not coming,' Arthur says, his voice rough. 'Now go back to Gaius and make yourself useful.'

***

'Merlin, he has a point.' Gaius trails Merlin around the room as he throws things into his little pack. 'Whether he knew it or not, he's right. He's hunting something that hunts magic-users. You don't think it's a little foolhardy for you to go haring off after him?'

'I can't let him charge off into that again! You weren't there, Gaius. You didn't see how fast those things are, and there're two of them now. I know they'll go for me, now, so I can _use_ that. I can draw them off, distract them, do _something_!'

'And if Arthur sees you? If Arthur puts two and two together? He came to me after Uther gave him the news, you know. He asked for everything I knew about wyverns - I had to tell him.' Gaius looks grave, worried. He reaches out to grasp Merlin's shoulder. '_Think_, Merlin. He's a warrior, the best we have. He killed the last one, he can kill these ones. You're no good to him if he finds out your secret, if he's forced to follow his father's laws-'

'I can't not help him, Gaius. I _can't_. You can't ask me not to follow him.'

Gaius sighs. 'I suppose I can't,' he says. 'Or rather, I suppose I can't count on you to follow through with it even if I make you promise not to.'

'Then we understand each other.' Merlin grins, and shoulders his knapsack. 'I'll try not to get myself killed doing something stupid,' he adds.

'You'd better not,' Gaius grumbles, and holds the door open for him.

***

It never goes according to plan. You'd think Merlin would have started realising that and trying to account for it, but every time he sets off on one of these things he only bothers to make the one plan. He resolves to do better next time. He also resolves to next time not dive into battle with the magic-hunting thing waving a fistful of blue-glowy power. Perhaps it would be a good idea to see if the book has a chapter on Subtlety in Magic? Fortunately, Merlin's pretty certain no-one but the wyvern saw him. Unfortunately the wyvern _did_ see him, and it bit him and clawed him, and Merlin was not really prepared for how much blood is in him. Or out of him, now.

This was a bad idea.

It's easy to have hindsight when you're propped up against a tree and trying to will yourself not to faint. Arthur had put him there firmly and angrily after killing the wyvern that attacked him first and said 'If you move, so help me Merlin, I will come back and chop your legs off,' before going after the second wyvern, which the knights were keeping penned. This time, Arthur and his knights have pikes. Much more efficient against wyverns, Merlin notes groggily.

They've formed a semicircle around Merlin's tree. The wyvern keeps trying to sideswipe their pikes away with its head, of all things, proving it can't possibly be very intelligent, but it's obvious it's trying to get to Merlin.

Hopefully the fact that he's losing a lot of blood will be enough to explain this? Lots of things are attracted to blood, right?

The knights are nervous, and unused to pikes. It picks them off one by one. _I will have to build another funeral pyre,_ Merlin thinks, _or maybe not, because maybe it will get to eat me after all._

Eventually they are down to two - Gaheris, one of the older knights, one of the few still surviving from Uther's days as commander, and Arthur. They play a dangerous little game of feint and run and jab and feint, and then Gaheris gets it in the flanks, and then Arthur through the neck, and it's done. It falls like a tree in the forest, crashing catastrophically and landing with a thump that spells finality. That there is one really, really dead wyvern.

Merlin giggles a little, and feels his eyelids slip shut.

***

He wakes to the realisation that it's dark, and someone's sitting beside his head. He groans - it seems like the thing to do when your whole body feels like it's been kicked by a horse.

'Awake, are we?' Arthur's voice drifts down to him.

'Nnngh,' Merlin says, incoherently.

'That would be the blood-loss speaking,' Arthur says, a twist of humour in his tone. 'Don't worry. I'll tie you to your horse like a conquering hero bringing home his spoils, and the journey will just fly by. We'll be home before you know it.'

'Ha. Ha.' Merlin grunts. '"m sure y'r father will think I'm _lovely_ slave-girl fr'is son.'

Arthur laughs too, quietly.

''m sorry,' Merlin adds.

'We burnt the knights this afternoon,' Arthur remarks. 'After I bandaged you up.' There's a lot of control in his voice, Merlin can hear it. He speaks tight as a bow-string. It hurts Arthur to lose his men, hurts his pride and his heart and his sense of duty. He loses so many of them in his father's war on magic - Merlin is occasionally afraid that one day he will lose one too many, and it will stop hurting, and Arthur will be Uther all over again.

''m sorry.' Which is an understatement.

'I told you not to come.'

''know.'

Arthur sighs. 'But I can't be sure that if you _hadn't_ come, I wouldn't be dead too.'

''m so-'

'I know you are. _Gods_, Merlin, I know you are.' Arthur says, tired and angry and frustrated. 'Get some sleep,' he adds, and stomps off.

Through the smoke, Merlin can see Gaheris accost Arthur, and they argue. Arthur ends up gesturing angrily off to the south - sending Gaheris out to stand a watch, Merlin supposes.

The last thing Merlin notices before he falls asleep again is Arthur's bedroll beside his.

***

Three days later, they're nearly home. Arthur carried out his threat and tied Merlin to his saddle the first day, upright rather than crossways, thank Heavens, but since then he's been fit to ride unaided. He feels better every day, suspects his magic is judiciously helping the healing along. They weren't particularly _bad_ wounds, but he lost a lot of blood. Gaius told him once that there is an organ in your body, the spleen, that makes new blood when you need it. Merlin feels his must be working at double-speed.

Arthur and Gaheris have been having increasingly angry whispered arguments, and Arthur refuses to leave Merlin alone, with the result that when Arthur stands watch Merlin stands it with him. Arthur's jaw goes so tight after these arguments that Merlin doesn't dare ask him what they were about. He doesn't dare ask any questions, actually. He wakes every morning with Arthur's arm around him, his hand fisted in Merlin's blankets, and most embarrassingly, his morning erection pressed firmly into Merlin's thigh. Not that Merlin _would_ say anything about that. He knows it doesn't mean anything, and besides, he blesses the fact that he wakes up before Arthur because it means he can wander off discreetly and take care of his own little issue. When he comes back from that errand, Arthur is usually awake.

They don't say anything, but Merlin knows Arthur knows. Sometimes, the way he looks at him ... Merlin cannot tear his eyes away, cannot help but feel nervous, elated, frightened, excited. Something is changing, has changed. Arthur is treating him carefully, possessively, like he treats a fine stallion or a new blade. Merlin's breath comes shakily at the thought of why that might be.

He has not had to reexamine his own feelings, though he's been considering Arthur's heavily. He knows what he would do for Arthur. He would do anything. And what he wants from Arthur is nothing, or everything. Nothing for himself, but he wants everything that Arthur has potential to be. He wants that king, on that throne. He wants that future.

He wants Arthur.

He wants to be by Arthur's side, any way he may. If Arthur wants him there.

This morning is no different. He comes back from his walk and finds Arthur dressed and with his gear packed, attempting to prepare a breakfast. The other knight is nowhere to be seen, which is hardly unusual. Arthur has seemed determined to keep Gaheris and Merlin apart as much as possible on this journey.

'I sent Gaheris on to tell them we were coming,' Arthur says, trying to poke the fire back into some life. Merlin goes over to help him, picking up a twig to goad the embers with. 'Maybe that way I won't have to spend so long telling my father about the loss of the men,' he adds.

Merlin nods, concentrating on encouraging the little lick of flame to burn higher and on forcing away the clamour of his magic that says all he has to do is whisper, just whisper, and it can conjure more fire than he could ever dream of.

'And I need to speak with you,' Arthur adds, and stills Merlin's hand with its twig-poker. 'About the magic, Merlin.'

Merlin freezes.

'I've wondered for a while,' Arthur goes on, not looking at Merlin at all. 'But I told myself that if you _were_, well, sooner or later you would use it, you would make some almost certainly appallingly unsubtle attempt at, well, killing my father, or stealing, or something. But you never did.'

'I-' Merlin whispers, goes to turn away. This is not- he does not want to lie again, but he will have to. Arthur takes his other hand, and here they are again, Arthur holding Merlin, keeping him from running.

'And then I saw you, with the first wyvern, and I was ...'

'Angry,' Merlin finishes for him with certainty.

'No.' Arthur licks his lips, closes his eyes. Thinks. 'I was ... you did it so _stupidly_, I couldn't believe it. You just charged in and let rip, you nearly got yourself killed. I know I should have been angry, but ... what _possessed_ you?'

'It was going to kill you,' Merlin says. He shrugs, awkward when held by the wrists. He doesn't really have any other answer. What is he supposed to say? Does Arthur think he _thought it through_? When Arthur's life was on the line, does Arthur honestly think Merlin stopped to _plan_?

'And you would have let yourself be killed instead?'

Merlin rolls his eyes. '_Yes_,' he says. 'Arthur, your life is worth anything, _anything_, it doesn't matter what. You have to be King. That's what - that's what it's _for_.'

'How many times have you done this?' is Arthur's next question. 'How many -' He stops, plainly counting how many people, how many mysterious disappearances, miraculous escapes ... 'Why on Earth did no-one _notice_ \- Merlin, you idiot, why are you still here? If my father-'

'If you give me up, I'll die,' Merlin says, finally meeting Arthur's eyes. 'If you decide your father's laws are worth upholding, then we'll uphold them.'

'You'd put your neck on the block?'

'If you ordered it.'

'And if I order you to run?'

'I won't leave you.'

'If I _order_ you?'

'I already told you, I don't obey orders that mean you'll get killed.' Merlin tries to smile, but the look in Arthur's eyes kills the grin - it's hot and fierce and possessive.

'You're my servant,' Arthur begins, clutching tighter, drawing Merlin closer. 'You're mine-'

'Always,' Merlin says, and that's when Arthur kisses him. He kisses like treason, inching in to persuade, to change everything from within, and he kisses like war, like an attack on the senses, on the defenses. Merlin, who has never done anything but fight Arthur when Arthur is like this, cannot help but push back, climb and claw his way to an even footing, and they grin and pant in each other's mouths and Arthur's eyes are open, alight and triumphant as he whispers oaths and promises and profanities into Merlin's very breath.

There's a moment when Merlin thinks that this might be entirely the point of everything, and then it all comes crashing down. There's the point of a sword at Merlin's throat, and Arthur isn't kissing him anymore, is instead looking up into the angry face of Gaheris, who is holding the sword.

Somehow Arthur doesn't seem as surprised by this scenario as Merlin might have expected him to be.

'Gaheris, you don't want to do this.'

'My lord, I must entreat you to leave this to me. He has ... affected your mind.' Gaheris is calm, but something flickers at the edge of his voice. He is a man doing his duty, that much is clear.

'I ordered you back to Camelot,' Arthur points out.

'I had reason to think your life was in danger,' says Gaheris, raising the point of the sword slowly and forcing Merlin to stand, Arthur lets go and lets Merlin do so. 'I can hardly be expected to leave you at the mercy of a sorceror.'

'Merlin isn't a sorceror, don't be ridiculous,' Arthur says, getting to his feet. He even summons a laugh with the lie. Merlin wonders how many times Arthur has done this. Twice that he knows of, at least. He'd thought Arthur was sincere both of those times. He doesn't know, now.

'Sorceror, incubus, does it matter?' Gaheris asks. 'All I know is, he is of magic, and I am sworn to your protection and to the upholding of your father's laws. We have spoken of this. I believed you before, but I have heard confession from his very lips, as have you. You must stand aside, your Highness. The boy must die.' The man's sword does not waver. Its point rustles through Merlin's kerchief, unerringly finding skin. It itches, incongruously, tickles.

It is funny to think that death is only the thickness of skin away, that it can be brought by nothing more than a sliver of steel and a man's will. So much for destiny.

'I forbid this,' Arthur says. He too is unwavering, cold and close. 'You will not murder my manservant.' He is weaponless, though Merlin can see his fingers quest for a sword he isn't wearing. He still wears an air of command like a cloak, and it is clearly this which is staying Gaheris's hand so far, but it cannot last.

Merlin casts around - doesn't dare move, but looks, strains his eyes to their corners searching for help or advantage. Arthur's sword is by his bedroll. It isn't far, and Merlin could lift it without speaking, but he cannot lift it without his eyes giving him away. Arthur must guess what he's thinking, because he glares at Merlin, forbidding him silently.

'I will do whatever I must to keep magic from Camelot,' says Gaheris, overwrought and earnest. He is one of Uther's, always one of Uther's. 'Your Highness, your father will understand. You are bewitched, he has seduced you. There is no shame in this, if you will but let me deal with the boy.'

'You disobeyed my order earlier,' Arthur says. 'You did not go back to Camelot?'

'No, my lord. I did not feel safe in leaving you. I have been within sight of this camp all morning.' He glares daggers at Merlin as he says this.

'Well, that is a blessing,' says Arthur blandly.

'Sire?' Gaheris's attention wavers just for a second, and in the barest twinkle of an eye, Arthur has a knife to Gaheris's throat and the sword twisted out of his grip, sword arm up and behind his back, buckling under the pressure.

'You will tell no-one of this, Gaheris. It is in your interests to swear to me that you will not.'

'You would ask me to commit treason against the King your father?'

'I ask you to spare the life of an innocent man.'

'My lord, he is a sorceror!' Gaheris evidently has no sense of self-preservation, because all that earns him is an extra twist of the arm and a tiny shiver of a slice in the skin of his throat. It bleeds a little, a smudge of red that dulls quickly. Merlin doesn't want him to bleed, doesn't want Arthur to do this for him, but he has no comprehension of how to stop it.

'Will you swear?' The knifepoint digs just that little bit deeper.

'My lord-'

'Is a law worth your life, Gaheris? Is going against my orders? _Will you swear?_'

'I-' Gaheris's eyes swivel frantically, trying to find a way out of this. But there is none. 'I- I will swear, my lord,' he finally says, and almost falls as Arthur lets him go. He wipes at his neck where it's cut. Winces. 'Is this how you repay loyalty?' he asks Arthur, eyes reproachful. 'No good will come of this, my lord.'

'I repay loyalty with loyalty,' Arthur says, sheathing his dagger. 'Merlin has been a faithful servant since his first day in Camelot. I won't see him killed because of it. And if you keep faith with me, I will reward that too.'

There is something in Gaheris's eyes, some bitter humour, as he walks away, past Arthur, past Merlin, towards the horses. 'I have never sought to do anything but keep faith with you, my Lord,' he says as he goes. They both turn to watch him, noticing too late as his hand goes to his belt -

'Merlin!' Arthur cries, and then instinct takes over, burning gold. Merlin doesn't remember the rest.

Gaheris's knife falls forlornly to the ground, the little thud of it followed by the noise of Gaheris himself falling. That shakes Merlin back to reality, he feels the magic drain away with the colour in his face. His eyes seek Arthur's.

'Arthur, I-'

'He forced your hand,' Arthur says. His voice shakes with anger. 'And apparently _you_ have no control.' He strides past Merlin to the horses. 'Burn him,' he adds, dropping the saddle onto his mare's back. 'I'll see you at Camelot.'

He must guess at Merlin's expression, though he can't possibly see it, because he adds. 'And if you run, Merlin, I'll bring you back. There's nowhere you can go that I won't follow you to.' He says it with great force, tightening buckles and adjusting stirrups as he does so.

'Arthur. _Sire-_'

Arthur swings himself into the saddle and kicks the horse into a trot, then a canter. And Merlin is left behind with a horse and a body. He wants to scream. How could this have gone so badly? He toys with running, despite what Arthur said, but decides against it - he doesn't doubt that Arthur _will_ follow him.

Gaheris's corpse stares up at him accusingly. He can't leave a dead man like that, unburnt and unmourned, so he casts around for timber.

'What am I doing?' Merlin says to himself as his fingers close around a branch. He laughs, a strange sound in the quiet forest, and gets up. He points at Gaheris's corpse, and whispers. Flames roar up, as hot and implacable as the feeling in Merlin's gut, where guilt and anger roil together.

And then he saddles the horse and rides to Camelot. What else can he do? Arthur ordered him, and he told Arthur he would do anything.

_Anything_.

***

Merlin misses Arthur's report to Uther. He misses the feast to celebrate the kills and to honour the dead - he wouldn't feel he deserved to go even if Gaius weren't poking and prodding at his wounds and tutting at the pallor of his skin and subtly interrogating him. He tells the old man everything dully, waits for a reprimand that doesn't come. Gaius tells him that Arthur had his things sent for, that Merlin is to move to the manservant's antechamber outside Arthur's rooms, as is actually traditional and proper. He hugs Merlin, tells him he's proud of him.

Merlin feels cold inside. He has no idea what to do, what to think. He has no idea what Arthur is going to do with him.

He killed a _knight_. A good knight, a loyal knight. He killed one of _theirs_.

He drags his feet all the way to Arthur's chambers. When he pushes the door open, his book, his most secret, precious book, is laid open on Arthur's table. Arthur drags him in and bolts the door behind him firmly.

'I have come to the conclusion,' he says, as if they've been talking for hours and as if Merlin hasn't walked into his room stinking of burning. 'That we can use this.'

'Use this? Use - use the magic?' Merlin hisses. 'Are you mad?'

'Clearly not as mad as you,' Arthur retorts. 'After all, you've been using it since the day you got here, in the most unsubtle ways.'

'And look what good it's done me!'

Arthur studies Merlin's face intently for a minute. 'Could you stop?' he asks. 'If I ordered you, if I told you never to do magic again. You said you would do whatever I ordered you to. Could you stop?'

'No.'

'Then you have to learn to _use_ it. Control it. You're walking around with a weapon you barely know how to use, that much is plain to me.'

'Arthur, I _killed_ someone! Can't you at least give me a day?' Merlin's voice cracks. He's killed with magic before. He's killed warlocks and witches and Sidhe, and they all wore human faces and some of them were human, but they were of magic, and they were threatening his friends. They were threatening _Arthur_. He knows Arthur's life is worth it.

He's never killed for himself before. He doesn't know that he's worth more than Gaheris was. He needs to get his head straight.

Arthur is looking at him, soft and pitying. He puts his hands on Merlin's shoulders, squeezes gently. 'A day leads to a week leads to the rest of your life,' he says. 'You have to work past this part.' Merlin shakes his head, tries to shake Arthur off. Arthur holds him firm. 'I was twelve,' he says finally. 'It was a tournament, and I was well-grown for my age, so my father entered me. He told me to make him proud.' He laughs then, drily. 'A Mercian knight was my fifth opponent, and he wouldn't yield ...'

Merlin has seen this look in Arthur's eyes before. Of course. Arthur has killed before, too.

'And I went to my father afterwards, and he _was_ proud,' Arthur finishes. 'You have no idea, he just - I couldn't sleep that night, remembering the man's face when they pulled the helm off him ... and my father told me well done, that I was ready to lead the knights.' His fingers grind into Merlin's shoulderblades. 'My father's made us a lot of enemies,' he says. 'Most of them have magic. One day, they'll come, and I'll need you. I need you _now_, truth be told. But right now, _you_ are a weapon I don't know how to use.'

Arthur's eyes travel over Merlin in the same way they always have, assessing, considering. Possessive.

'I'm no good with weapons,' Merlin says, trying to smile. 'You know that.'

Arthur smiles like a razorblade, and reels Merlin in. Their mouths fit like Merlin remembers, close like armour and trust. 'I am,' Arthur says, and his tone makes Merlin shiver as his hands settle at Merlin's hips. 'Want me to show you?'


End file.
